


praying for the end of time

by sheepishlion



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:39:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepishlion/pseuds/sheepishlion
Summary: After a few beats of silence, Nick sighs. “You’re welcome, Louis, no, it was no trouble at all, and absolutely you can use my blanket, please, by all means, have the spot I’ve warmed up for you as well,” he says and digs his feet further under the blanket in protest. He wonders if the heat’s gone off as well as the power or if he’s just imagining the drop in temperature in the cabin since Louis’ arrival.“Thanks,” Louis grins with all his teeth, and it’s a bit more unsettling than charming in this current situation. Nick thinks maybe he’d have been safer with the yeti.A good old fashion snowed in a cabin together for an elaborate reason Tomlinshaw futurefic set at the band's reunion album. Shh, let me dream.





	

**Author's Note:**

> here are the things that were true when i started writing this: zayn was in the band, four hadn't come out yet, nobody had any babies, and matt fincham still worked on the breakfast show. most things in this fic have been altered to reflect the current timeline, but finchy will be there because i run this show.  
>  
> 
> title from paradise by the dashboard lights by meatloaf! 
> 
> i swore i would love you til the end of time  
> and now i'm praying for the end of time, it's all that i can do  
> i'm praying for the end of time so i can end my time with you.

_GRIMMY AND 1D FREE SKI? OUI OUI!_

_Our beloved Breakfast Show host Nick Grimshaw announced this morning that he would be disappearing up to a private ski resort in France for the weekend with the biggest boyband in the world! Grimshaw and One Direction will enjoy an all-expenses paid ski vacation in private cabin, hidden away from the rest of the world._

_Some people have all the luck!_

_Grimshaw (pictured with BFF Harry Styles above) and the lads will be joined by a camera crew and filmed 24 hours a day for an exclusive hour-long feature that will air in the coming month. The broadcast will include an interview done by Grimmy himself as well as a highlight reel from their free time around the resort (does anyone else smell a hot tub scene in the works? Fingers crossed!) and will serve as promotion for their upcoming album_ **_Seasons_ ** _._

**_Seasons_ ** _is One Direction’s sixth studio album and a tentative release date has been set for April 19_ _ th _ _. The boys’ announced the album and their first single_ **_Avalanche_ ** _(listen_ _here_ _and tell us what you think!) fresh off the red carpet from the Brits earlier this month. Hopefully they manage to avoid any real avalanches while they’re enjoying the slopes with Grimshaw and the crew._

_The lads (and Nick) have all taken to twitter to express their excitement. Harry Styles wryly commented that he “can’t wait” to watch gifs himself falling off skis, Liam Payne posted an image of himself wearing a ski helmet captioned “READY TOO GooOOooO!!!!!!!!” [sic], and Niall Horan sent off an inspiring five tweet speech about how grateful he was to the fans and Grimshaw for the opportunity. All of these were retweeted by Grimshaw, who sounded positively giddy on the radio as he broke the news. Well, as giddy as one can sound at 6am. No word yet from Louis Tomlinson, but we here at POP NEWS ONLINE can only imagine he’s too overcome with excitement to speak! Or, er, type. Anyway._

_Check back with POP NEWS ONLINE for more updates about 1D’s ski weekend as they come! For news about_ **_Seasons_ ** _check out our_ _One Direction tag_ _and for Breakfast Show highlights and updates be sure to head to our_ _Breakfast Show_ _tag_ _. For more general celebrity news, head back to our homepage and click on whatever excites you!_

\--

Just because Nick _knows_ how he’s ended up snowed into a log cabin with no wifi, no phone signal, and nobody to talk to doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. It is truly all Finchy’s fault, as most things are. He’d been quite adamant that Nick _not under any circumstances_ be late to the biggest interview opportunity of his entire career lest they give up on waiting for him and give James Corden a ring instead, and so Nick ended up on the road at _four o’clock in the morning_. Nick hosts the bloody Breakfast Show and even he’s not in the back of a cab until at least five thirty. So not only did Nick beat all of One Direction and the entire camera crew to the cabin, he also managed to beat the horrendous fuck off snowstorm that arrived twenty minutes after he did. He’d had enough of a signal to get a text from Harry explaining that the powers that be were going to wait for the weather to clear before sending them up there, and then the storm picked up, he lost his signal, and the power cut out. Excellent. He is going to have a _lot_ to say Monday morning. If he survives to Monday morning. “Siri, could one theoretically freeze to death just by knowing how cold it is outside? Like a reverse placebo?”

Silence. Even Siri has forsaken him. Nick drops his phone with a flourish back onto the couch cushions beside him and pulls the duvet he’d nicked off one of the beds around him tighter. It’s not actually cold in the cabin, and Nick suspects there’s some backup generator somewhere keeping the essentials like heat going, but there’s nothing more comforting than a bit of self-manufactured drama while he mentally prepares the tweets he’s going to fire off as soon as the wifi comes back on. He’s in the middle of deciding which string of emojis he’s going to use when the front door opens behind him and he nearly has a heart attack. 

“Jesus!” Nick yelps, jerking forward almost entirely off the couch and spinning to look at the door. For a long minute, he’s convinced a yeti-like creature has just wandered into the cabin in search of a morning snack, but then the yeti shakes off the layers of snow coating it and reveals what is clearly a human, albeit a human bundled up so heavily there’s not a single inch of skin showing between the hood, the hat, and the scarf wrapped around their face. At least if Nick is getting murdered, he’s getting murdered by a real person.

The person spends what feels like an eternity pulling off their mittens to claw at the scarf before yanking it off, exposing the extremely-pissed off face of Louis Tomlinson. “What the fuck is this!” He yells, apparently at nobody because he’s not looking at Nick, tugging his hat off and glancing wildly around the cabin. The door is still open behind him, and a particularly nasty gust of wind brings a burst of snow into the cabin. 

“Shut the bloody door!” Nick shouts, a bit more unkind than he intended it, but the chill flying in behind Louis is making Nick shake even under his blanket, and he’ll be damned if he freezes to death because of a popstar with no manners. 

Louis’ eyes finally land on Nick and he scrunches his face up tight before reaching out absent-mindedly to slam the door shut behind him. “Where is everyone? The cameras?” 

Nick stares at him for a beat, taking in the wild hat-hair and the way he wiggles while he’s getting out of his gear not unlike a child. The leftover cold air sparks a shiver down Nick’s spine and it snaps him back into the question. “They’re… not here. Not coming at all, probably, at least if this weather keeps up. Harry said the team was waiting to bring you up. Why are you here?”

Louis gives him a sharp look as he pulls himself out of the snow pants, finally stood before Nick in just joggers and a jumper. Nick suddenly feels a little silly about changing into his warm winter onesie with the feet and butt flap. It has reindeer on it. He wraps the duvet a little tighter around himself as Louis speaks. “I drove myself. Was at me family’s last night,” he says, distracted, pulling his phone out of his pocket and cursing loudly at it. “’Course they didn’t fucking tell me not to come until it was too late.”

“Maybe they figured you had common sense,” Nick offers, wincing immediately after. He can never quite get the playful-teasing down right with Tomlinson, always falling flat on the side of mean. 

“Like you, you mean?” Louis responds in kind, gesturing at Nick and then the cabin at large. 

“Fair,” Nick concedes, and then the silence between them goes stale. It’s not that they _don’t_ get along, contrary to what the fans on Twitter are always telling him, it’s just that- well. Back when they’d met, Nick had thought Louis was quite funny and really exactly his type, and Louis had thought Nick was… not. He didn’t laugh at any of Nick’s jokes, rolled his eyes at his stories, and ultimately Nick had just decided that turning the charm on a hundred percent with this kid was not going to get him any results and had simply given up. The silence has dragged on for far too long and Louis is looking at him expectantly. He clears his throat. “Want me to turn the kettle on?”

“Cheers,” Louis says curtly, already walking towards the back area of the cabin where the bedrooms are. He’s got his phone up to his ear and Nick doesn’t bother to mention that there’s no signal. 

“At least we’ve still got power!” Nick calls cheerfully as he can manage, reluctantly leaving his blankets and warmth on the couch to head towards the kitchen.

As if on cue, the lights cut out. Louis curses again, much louder than before, from one of the bedrooms. “Way to go, Grimshaw!”

“Ah, well then,” Nick mutters to himself, standing on the threshold of the kitchen, where he can see out the window. A solid blanket of white. “Right.” 

\--

It turns out that the stove, at least, is gas-powered, so Nick manages to get them each a cup of tea, and by the time he’s done that, Louis seems to have created a little nest for himself on the couch with the duvet. With Nick’s duvet. In Nick’s spot. Nick clears his throat pointedly but takes a seat on the opposite side of the couch, tucking his feet under the edge of the blanket. Louis reaches forward for his tea, making grabby hands when he can’t quite reach, and Nick rolls his eyes as he passes it over. 

After a few beats of silence, Nick sighs. “You’re _welcome_ , Louis, no, it was no trouble at all, and absolutely you can use my blanket, please, by all means, have the spot I’ve warmed up for you as well,” he says and digs his feet further under the blanket in protest. He wonders if the heat’s gone off as well as the power or if he’s just imagining the drop in temperature in the cabin since Louis’ arrival. 

“Thanks,” Louis grins with all his teeth, and it’s a bit more unsettling than charming in this current situation. Nick thinks maybe he’d have been safer with the yeti. “Think we should Irish up this tea? There’s gotta be a liquor cabinet around here somewhere. Alcohol will keep us from freezing our tits off,” he suggests, looking at Nick pointedly. Nick knows that alcohol doesn’t actually make you warmer, but he’s not one to provide a reason to not get drunk. 

“I’ve always said you were the smart one,” Nick agrees, pulling himself to his feet again to find whatever alcohol must be stored in this place. To his surprise, Louis laughs, and it doesn’t sound sarcastic in the slightest. When Nick glances at him, he stops, but there’s echoes of it in the lines by his eyes. Nick certainly didn’t expect Louis to be _hostile_ this weekend, but pleasant wouldn’t have made the list either. He’d love to see what the twitter fans would make of this.

“Sometime this century, Nicholas,” Louis snaps, haughtily bringing his tea to his lips and raising his eyebrows. 

Well. Nearly pleasant. Pleasant enough.

Nick rolls his eyes. “You know, it’d be common courtesy for you to get the alcohol, since I got the tea,” he says, more to fill the silence than to really complain. He scans the room, spotting a potential liquor cabinet and heading over.

“Mm,” Louis makes a noise that’s neither agreement or dissent, and when Nick glances back over at him, he’s scrolling through his phone.

“Surely you don’t have service.” Nick pulls out the only alcohol in the cabinet - a bottle of raspberry vodka. Christ. This is going to be quite the night. “Imagine doing a periscope right now.”

Louis laughs once, a bit humourlessly. “Can’t imagine doing a periscope at all, mate.”

Nick hums thoughtfully, thinking back on his only experience with periscope himself - mostly just questions about Harry and an over-analysis of his facial expressions that lead to making a public statement about whether or whether not they’d ever seen each other’s cocks. Christ, if it was like that for _him_ , Nick doesn’t even want to think about what Louis’d have to go through. “Twitter’d about have a meltdown, at least.”

He hears the telltale scratch-pop sound effect of a refreshed twitter feed as he speaks, and Nick grins wryly. Louis huffs and tosses his phone down on the comforter as Nick re-approaches, shaking the vodka bottle in Louis’ direction. “You know, before you got here, I spent a solid hour trying to refresh twitter, like maybe there’d be one miracle tweet that got through, and it’d be Britney Spears telling me she loved me.”

Louis makes a face, and Nick isn’t sure if it’s about Britney, Nick, or the vodka. He reaches for the bottle regardless, and Nick lets him have it. He twists the top off and pours solidly more alcohol than strictly necessary into his cup of tea. He takes a sip and his face contorts even further. “Jesus, Grimmy,” he mutters, like Nick had anything to do with what his drink tastes like now. “We better do this fast so we don’t have to taste it for very long.”

“If I had a nickel,” Nick says conspiratorially, and Louis chokes on his next sip of his drink. Nick throws his head back in a cackle as Louis sputters indignantly. “Oh, I love corrupting the youth.”

“I’ve fathered a child, Grimmy,” Louis says once he rights his breathing, and Nick lets out another loud laugh.

“I’m not an expert, but I’m fairly sure you don’t have to taste anything to father a child,” Nick responds, mostly to see Louis’ face twist up in answer. 

“If you want to become an expert I know a really quick way to do it,” Louis offers, and this time when Nick laugh it comes out as a startled snort. 

 “A nine month master class?” Nick grins widely, holding his hand out for the bottle of vodka. He’s already, dare he say it, bantering with Louis Tomlinson, he may as well do it drunk. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Oh, it only took like three minutes,” Louis responds, mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face. He loses the fight when Nick guffaws, and slaps the bottle down in his waiting hand with a wicked smile. “Happens to a lot of guys, though, from what I’ve heard.”

“What I wouldn’t give for that camera crew right now,” Nick says wistfully, twisting the top off the bottle and adding the liquor to his own drink. He tastes it carefully, and it’s not nearly as awful as Louis made it out to be. Maybe Nick’s got a stronger tolerance for fruity drinks. Maybe he’s just better at mixing. He wouldn’t be surprised by either. 

Louis just shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink and forgoing getting up to get more tea from the kitchen by just pouring the vodka into his mug. “Catch up, Grimshaw,” he says, grinning like it’s a challenge. 

Good lord. It’s going to be a long night. 

—

It must be around one am, Nick figures, squinting at the large grandfather clock in the middle of the room. He’d check his phone, but the battery’d died ages ago, and he’d ask Louis to check his, but he wouldn't want to distract him from his current task. Louis is staring determinedly down at his Guess Who board, with only four tiles left standing. Nick’s own has about fifteen. Nick isn’t sure how one might go about cheating at Guess Who, but he’s sure Louis has done it.

“Does your guy look like a twat?”

Nick snorts. “What does that even _mean_ ,” he says, but he inspects his card anyway. He supposes Bill does look a bit of a twat, with his unfortunate goatee-soul patch combo. The bald on top not on the sides look doesn’t do anyone any favours on top of that. “He looks kind of like ginger Shakespeare,” Nick muses to himself. It dawns on him a second too late that he’d just royally given himself away, and he dramatically claps his hand over his mouth.

The smile on Louis’ face is damn near _manic_ as he flips down all but one tile. “Your turn!” He says brightly, eyes sparkling. He grabs the almost empty bottle of vodka off the floor beside them and takes a swig. 

“It’s not fair to play games of deceit while I’m drunk,” Nick whinges, putting on a pout for show too. “How’m I meant to showcase my sparkling wit if I’m half a bottle of vodka out to sea?” 

“It’s not about deceit, Nicholas, it’s about _strategy_ ,” says Louis haughtily. “I’m just as drunk as you are and I’m playing Guess Who at a damn near professional level. Don’t make excuses for yourself.”

Nick narrows his eyes at Louis. He turns back to his board with severity. When he’d found the cabinet with all the board games in it, he’d thought it’d have been just a spot of fun, but a good five hours and a torn in half Sorry board later, Nick is realizing perhaps Tomlinson and himself are a bit too competitive. Their overall score is tied 6-6. There’s only one thing to do. Nick studies the remaining rows fervently, picking the one who gives him the best vibe.

“Is yours Anne?”

There’s a few seconds of silence. When Nick looks back up, Louis is gaping at him, hand gone slack around the neck of the bottle. Nick reaches across the boards and gingerly removes it from his hand, bringing it back over and taking the remaining shot. He sets it back down on the floor. The clink of the glass seems to snap Louis back into motion.

“How the absolute _fuck_ did you _do that_?!” Louis all but yells, scrambling across his board to take a look at Nick’s, like that contains the answer.

“Anne looks saucy! I had a good feeling about her!” Nick cries indignantly, grabbing Louis’ biceps to try to faux-push him back from his board. “You stay away from my card! You’re cheating!”

“You’ve _already won_!” Louis yells again, but this time he’s laughing, pushing back against Nick’s grip in a play struggle. He gives another surge forward, and Nick slides back a bit where he’s sat cross legged on the hardwood. 

“Sorry? Come again?” Nick tries to push back, but finds he’s got no leverage. “Did you say I won? Am I winning now?” He tries to finagle himself up onto his knees so he can really lean into it, but right as he gets himself lifted Louis gives another unexpected shove, and it knocks him off his balance. Nick goes careening back and to the left, and his grip on Louis’ arms means Louis’ coming with him.

Louis topples forward, their chests smacking together, and narrowly misses a chin-smashing incident by jerking his head back at the last moment. He laughs, a winded sound, and gives Nick another play shove. “Say it again, punk.”

Nick just _oof_ ’s, out of breath from both the fall and from Louis’ weight on top of his. Louis makes no effort to move except to reach out for the empty vodka bottle and peer into its contents with an exaggerated frown. “Only took us one bottle to wind up on the floor,” Nick says mournfully. 

“We’re old,” comes Louis’ somber agreement. “Some of us more than others.”

Nick digs a finger into Louis’ ribs, a jab for a jab. Louis just huffs out a laugh. There’s a moment of silence, and Nick tries not to think about how Louis hasn’t rolled off him. The weight of a body on his is so nice, though, and it’s been so long since his last proper boyfriend, or even a hookup who wanted a cuddle after. “I’m shocked to say this, Tomlinson, but I’m glad it was you I got snowed up in here with. Wouldn’t want to deal with Harry Styles this close. Somehow his breath always smells like vanilla mint. Makes a man self-conscious.”

Louis narrows his eyes, but Nick doesn’t know if it’s at the implication about his own breath (which, honestly, just smells like vodka, and Nick’s drunk enough that the scent has basically become neutral) or just at the mention of Harry’s name. “If Harry Styles was this close, he’d have kissed you by now.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick laughs and rolls his eyes. “And when are _you_ planning on kissing me?”

He means it entirely in a ‘wouldn’t that just be ridiculous’ sort of way, but when he glances at Louis’ face, he’s met with a look of consideration. “Could do worse than now, I suppose,” Louis says conversationally, setting the empty bottle down and rolling it off. 

Nick freezes, heart rate spiking. Louis is looking at him casually, and Nick tries to gauge how serious he is. He decides to test the waters a bit more - he’s probably just joking, after all, and Nick would hate to live up to the creepy old predator stereotype the fans have already tried to stick on him. “It _is_ all a bit romantic, isn’t it? The snow and the cabin and what all?”

“Mood lighting,” Louis agrees, glancing at the candles they’d lit around the living room. “The fear we might never be rescued. That and the alcohol will make a great excuse in the morning if it’s a rubbish hook up, too.”

Nick chokes a bit. “Who says I’d put out?” He says through it, hoping his voice is steadier than he feels. He also feels entirely too warm, the heat from Louis’ body on his causing sweat to prickle out wherever they’re pressed together. It gives Nick goosebumps. 

Louis levels him with a look. “Like you’d pass up the opportunity to say you’ve shagged half of One Direction.”

Nick’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _Pardon_? Who else in One Direction would I be shagging tonight?”

Louis blinks once, seemingly thrown. “Surely you and—”

Nick shakes his head so fast his vision swims for a half second. “No! No, no. Far too young for me, that one. Plus that vanilla mint thing. Couldn’t ever recover from that, ego wise.” 

Louis worries his bottom lip between his teeth, pushing himself up on his elbows. They’re digging into Nick’s chest now, but he doesn’t dare move. “Huh,” Louis settles on, after a long moment. “Aren’t I far too young for you then?”

“You’re not that young,” Nick grins, and the tension seems to lift off of them. “Besides, maybe my standards have dropped as I’ve entered my thirties. Any old boybander will do.” 

Louis squints at him, like he’s really considering it. “Have they dropped, then? Your standards?”

Nick frowns at the implication even though he’s the one who made it originally. This always seemed to be where he stepped off course with Louis - never quite hitting playful, always landing somewhere in disdain. “No,” he answers, and he sees Louis’ face go impassively blank and feels him start to shift like he's going to get off. Nick rushes to add onto it. “No, but you’re fit and funny and bossy and really too competitive about boardgames and that’s just my type anyway.”

There’s a long pause, and Nick can’t tell if he’s imagining the way Louis’ legs seem to be sliding open, like he’s about to move into a straddle, or if it’s the goosebumps or Louis himself that’s making him shiver. He can’t take the silence, never could, so he ends up speaking again. “Lord knows it’s not your Guess Who skills that won me over.”

Louis throws his head back to laugh, and Nick watches the long line of his throat and thinks, _fuck it_. He leans his head as far forward as he can, ghosting his open lips over the pulse in Louis’ throat, and he feels more than hears the sharp intake of breath he gets for his trouble. Nick lets his head drop back, letting Louis decide what the next move will be. 

Louis looks at him for a few seconds, infuriatingly unreadable, and when he speaks, it’s in a rough voice, like he’d been silent for hours rather than a minute. “What else would we do all night, huh,” he says, like it was never a question after all. He slides his hands so they’re pressed on the floor either side of Nick’s head and leans down to catch his mouth in a real kiss. Thank god Nick’s body reacts for him, because his brain is stuck on a loop of _I’m actually kissing Louis Tomlinson right now how in the bloody hell_ , while his hands slide up to Louis’ hips, holding him in place. The taste of the vodka is all but gone from their mouths, just a slight tang of the fake raspberry flavour, and Nick decides to chase it out with his tongue until the only taste is themselves. Louis sighs into it, one hand sliding to lightly hold Nick’s neck, while one leg slots into place in between Nick’s own, giving him enough leverage to rock against Nick lightly.

It gives Nick high school flashbacks, this kind of making out, and it feels like moments before they could’ve been playing spin the bottle instead of Guess Who, snuck away in his parents’ basement. He’s not nearly as drunk as he feels he ought to be considering he’s wound up snogging a pop star on the floor of a cabin they’ve been snowed into, but he feels heady and headier still the more Louis presses against him, the more Louis bites his lip, the more skin he discovers as he slides his hands up under the back of Louis’ shirt. He’s as hot to the touch as Nick feels, which is reassuring. 

Louis pulls back and drops his head to mouth at Nick’s throat. He feels the scrape of teeth, immediately soothed with a swipe of tongue, and Nick lets out a small noise. “No hickies, you monster,” Nick warns with no heat behind it, sounding breathless even to his own ears.

Louis, of course, responds by biting down hard where Nick’s neck meets his shoulder, and Nick gasps, hips arching of their own accord. Louis presses his down harder, and they both groan, sparks shooting up Nick’s spine. “Doing this on the floor can’t be good for your back, old man,” Louis says, and Nick can feel his smile against his throat. 

Nick tries to suppress a shiver at the sensation, but fails spectacularly. “Glad to hear you’re - so concerned for the elderly,” Nick says unevenly, digging his hand into Louis’ hip just to hear his breathing stutter. “Should we move to a bed then?”

“Nah,” Louis says breathlessly, lifting his head to give Nick a smile that, if he didn’t know better, is almost shy. “I know a better place.” He rolls off Nick to the side, winding him in the process, and stands up so quickly it gives Nick a headrush. Louis walks over to the couch where Nick’s duvet is still sat, and he wiggles underneath it. He smacks his hand a few times on the cushion like one would to entice a dog and whistles.

Nick groans and rolls his eyes, but still gets up to follow. He hears a few cracks from his joints as he stands, and he shoots Louis a quick glare. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he says menacingly, and Louis grins wickedly but holds his hands up in innocence. Nick walks over to the couch, suddenly and fiercely aware that he’s still only clad in his reindeer onesie with the butt flap, and it is certainly not leaving much to the imagination at the moment. He decides to lean into it, and as he reaches the cushions he strikes a pose, hand on hip and the other in the air. “You’re lucky to have landed a very serious high end fashion designer for the night, Tomlinson.”

Louis snorts, and grabs Nick by the hips. He gives one sharp tug and Nick is tumbling onto the sofa, rolling them both gracefully until they’re mirroring the way they were on the floor, only flipped. “God forbid I’d have been trapped in here with someone ridiculous,” he says gently, and grins up at Nick. It’s the softest he’s looked all night, and a tug of fondness pulls in Nick’s chest. He leans down and presses a quick peck to Louis’ smile, then reaches behind himself to pull the duvet up and over them. Louis laughs, a small sound, hushed further by the cave of comforter now surrounding them. 

“You’re not at all what I expected, Lou,” Nick whispers, feeling compelled to be as quiet as possible. “How come we never got along before?”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe it wasn’t the right time,” he answers simply. “Or maybe you were a massive pretentious douchebag.” 

“Oi,” Nick warns, but there’s no heat behind it. He puts his hand over Louis’ mouth. “Don’t ruin it now.”

He feels the unmistakable wet heat of his hand being licked, and he yanks his hand back. He pulls a face, wiping his hand along the side of the couch as Louis laughs. “You know, the single, this album, this weekend, it’s all about like,” Louis pauses for a second, closes his eyes in thought, and Nick takes in how sweet his face can be when it’s not all sharp angles and bared teeth. “It’s like, fresh starts, you know? New seasons wipe away the old ones but they’re still there underneath. Like, winter snow buries the autumn leaves but they’re still there under that blank slate. You get to start again. Sometimes you’re forced to, ‘cause the snow comes quicker than you’re ready for. Maybe this is like that.”

Nick hums thoughtfully. He feels a bit like that too - like staring out a field of snow nobody’s walked on yet. “Save that for when the cameras get here, lad. That’s gold right there.”

“What should we do without the cameras then?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow, and Nick waggles his back in return. He doesn't bother with an answer. For once, Nick Grimshaw doesn’t feel the need to _talk_. He leans in for another kiss, and this one’s heated right away, picking up where they left off. 

For all their big talk, they end up falling asleep just like that; fully dressed and tangled together, kissing slower and slower steadily until they drift off. Nick would blame the vodka, or the time of night, or even the added heat from the duvet, but he can’t be bothered enough to care. Right as he fades into sleep, he thinks about what Louis said about fresh starts, and he thinks - yeah. He can wait for the snow to melt.

—

When Nick wakes up, it feels, to his estimation, a million degrees warmer than when they fell asleep. He blinks against the muted light coming through the duvet, trying to make sense of where he is. Louis, as it turns out, must’ve had similar ideas about the warmth, having somehow taken his shirt off in the night. Nick drags a hand down Louis’ bare chest slowly, watching as the muscles jump beneath his fingers. Louis makes a warning sound, still asleep, and Nick grins. He repeats the motion, and then again, and then again, until Louis is twisting away and grumbling. Nick decides he’s _adorable_ when he’s sleeping. He lifts his head from where he’d tucked it into Louis’ neck, and presses small kisses along Louis’ jawline.

“Nick, jesus christ,” Louis mumbles, but there’s no malice in his voice. He sounds sleepy and fond and only a little hungover. “If you’re that fucking hard up for it you can blow me in the shower but lemme _sleep_ ,” he concedes, like it’s some great sacrifice, but he turns his head to meet Nick in a sleepy kiss. Nick feels giddy, all of a sudden, like a high schooler with a crush.

“When we get outta here, will you let me take you to coffee?” Nick asks when they pull away to breathe, and Louis opens one eye to look at him.

“Only if you go get me tea now,” he responds, and Nick sticks his tongue out at him, witty retort right there on the tip of his tongue, except —

“Do either of you guys have the wifi password?” an unmistakable voice calls out from outside their blanket cocoon in an Irish lilt. “Can’t find it fecking anywhere in this place.”

Louis and Nick both freeze. They stare at each other, unblinking, until a slow, steady voice rings out from somewhere on the other side of them - “You know, it’s dangerous to leave candles burning overnight.” 

Nick slowly raises his head, lifting the duvet with it until it slides off their shoulders. Stood directly in front of the couch is Niall, impassively scrolling through his phone, and off behind the couch stands Harry Styles, who's just finished blowing out a flame that had managed to last through the night. Liam ambles in through the kitchen, holding a tray of tea mugs, whistling a familiar tune. “Good morning, lads!” He says brightly, setting the tray down on the table and offering one each to Louis and Nick.

Slowly, carefully, Nick sits up, and Louis follows as if they’re attached with string. They both look as if they’ve seen a ghost. Louis does, however, reach forward and accept both mugs. “How— when did you guys—”

“Oh, about an hour ago,” Niall says cheerfully, throwing himself onto the space on the couch that’s now freed up. “We tried to call you but we think your phones are both dead. Storm cleared up over night.”

“Camera people will be here in about twenty,” Liam offers helpfully. He nudges at the Guess Who boards still on the floor with his feet. “If you wanted to clean up. Or get dressed.”

“Or not,” Harry adds, leaning over the back of the couch to give them both a leer. They’re both greeted with a whiff of vanilla mint, and Nick glances at Louis as an _I told you so_. “I’m sure we’d get great ratings just like this.”

“Fuck off, Styles,” Louis says blankly, like reading a script, and takes a drink of his tea. “Well, then. Do any of you have anything else you’d like to say?”

“Be careful, mate,” Niall directs this to Nick, and Nick blinks at him in response. “Don’t let this one bust your balls too much. Unless you’re into that.”

“Hey!” Louis says indignantly, and Nick seems to snap back into himself from the out of body experience he’d just been having.

“I think I’ll do alright, thanks,” he says warmly, winking at Niall and taking the extra mug of tea from Louis’ hand. He takes a swig, then stands up. Harry takes in his onesie and snorts, but Nick refuses to dignify that with a reaction. “I’m off to shower, then. Care to join?” He directs this down to Louis, who grins wickedly and stands with him.

They walk off towards the bathroom and Louis causally slips his hand into Nick’s. “If you’re still in there when the camera crew gets here I’m telling them to film you getting out!” Harry calls after them. Louis slides his hand out of Nick’s to flip him off, but Nick thinks that’s justifiable.

—

Nick can see the snow falling outside through the bathroom window, covering all the tracks left in the night by various wildlife, looking like a fresh canvas for them all to paint on. There’s a big weekend ahead of him, but as he glances at Louis, still in the shower and belting the same tune Liam was whistling earlier (something about snow, something about the warmth of being surrounded), he thinks maybe he’s already left his footprints. 

All of a sudden, it feels like spring.


End file.
